


coffee doesn't have a half-life.

by orphan_account



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: M/M, Requests, punishing withdrawal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-31
Updated: 2013-07-31
Packaged: 2017-12-21 23:34:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/906267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will spills coffee on Hannibal's suit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	coffee doesn't have a half-life.

**Author's Note:**

> a request given anonymously on my tumblr; duplicated here.

The thing about Will Graham, the most important thing, is that he worries --

 

Before the cases, before Hannibal, before university and high school and middle school and elementary, Will Graham was always his parents' worrier.

 

He worried about children, and then teenagers, and overall humans in general, and then he worried about animals, worried about Winston. Careful to put Winston in a kennel, worried that his other strays might not welcome him, worried about introducing him properly: stay, meet, grow accustomed. 

 

Will knows all about the need to grow accustomed. It's never been something afforded to him.

 

-

 

He doesn't mean to.

 

Hannibal has a way of bringing a more expressive part of himself out. He's twitchy and active, he may even be rambling. It's early in the day, and he isn't completely certain how he's ended up where he is: Hannibal at his house, in his kitchen. Apparently he'd made a call, a call he can't remember making.

 

But he's talking about Jack Crawford, and then Hannibal asks about Alana, and all Will can think is:  _there is a half-life to every medication you could possibly prescribe to me_  and then he's asking, "I don't think Alana and I would have a very long half-life; do you?" And before he can stop himself, "What do you think the half-life of our... timid friendship, Doctor Lecter, is?"

 

Coffee has been dripping steadily through out the conversation: in the background, re-filling another cup, while splashing over the rim of his own, dotting his fingertips in hot liquid, and before Hannibal can answer he's spilled quick-staining, burning liquid on Hannibal's tie. 

 

And he feels, very suddenly, that he's done something terribly wrong.

 

And so he worries.

 

"I'm sorry." Once, and then twice, and then three times, and he's grabbing napkins and paper towels, flimsy devices that bunch up in his grip as he tries to dry the tie (most likely an expensive tie that he could never afford himself). 

 

There is something about the way Hannibal reacts that tightens Will's guts, and it's in the fact that Hannibal doesn't react at all. There is not a single facial feature that Will can read. There is no worry or distate. There is a hand around his wrist.

 

"Will."

 

He blinks.

 

"Is there a half-life to coffee stains?" he tries, his voice strained.

 

Hannibal replies in his usual tone, "Withdrawal has no half-life, Will."

 

Will doesn't understand his point until the fourth day, the fourth day of Hannibal not answering his calls.

 

He decides that the coffee isn't helping his nerves any. 

 

Hannibal doesn't respond to his calls until the day after he sells his coffee maker.


End file.
